The Wedding Dress(105)

Carefully settling in behind the wheel, she fired up her car and fifteen minutes later plus one close call with a cement truck, she whipped into Tim’s driveway.

The garage door was open and he sat in the middle of an empty space, his hair flowing in long soft strands about his face, his bare feet sticking out from a pair of a creased jeans.

“Tim?” Charlotte tossed her keys into the driver’s seat as she stepped out, holding the gown’s hem off the ground.

“Charlotte.” He jumped up, making his way to her. “You’re wearing the dress?”

“Yes, it . . . it fit.” She passed him for the garage. “Tim, where are your bikes?”

“Sold them. Finally listened to that still small voice in my soul.” He fixed his gaze on her. “Why are you wearing your great-grandmother’s wedding dress?”

She could tell he liked saying that—great-grandmother. “Because . . . I . . .” She hadn’t fully worked out what she’d say once she saw him. She was driven by her need to see him.

Tim pointed at her, skidding sideways toward the door to the house. “Don’t move. I’ll be . . . just . . .” He opened the door. “Wait.” And disappeared inside. His footsteps thundered through the house and back again.

He burst through the door, his eyes sparkling, dancing, as he beelined for Charlotte. Without a word or hesitation, he bent to one knee and reached for her hand.

“Marry me, Charlotte. Please, marry me.” He slid his grandmother’s ring onto her finger.

“This is why I’m here, Tim. Wearing my great grandmother’s wedding dress.”

When Tim picked her up and whirled her around, Charlotte let out a laughing shout, tipping back her head and letting joy echo in the garage.

Tim buried his face against her neck, and for a moment, their heartbeats felt intertwined.

“The ring fits, the dress fits.” He lowered her feet to the garage floor. “We fit, babe. We fit.” He kissed her, his hands around her back, holding her to him. “Man, Charlotte, you smell good. You feel good.”

“Hey, friend Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell fiancé Tim I’m happy to have him back.”

“Charlotte.” He jerked his head up, holding her face in his hands. “What time is it?”

“Six thirty.”

His breath on her face created tingles on her toes. “Marry me. Now. Tonight. You have a dress. A beautiful dress. I own a tux. Our license is still good.”

“Tim, seriously? Now? Tonight?” Charlotte peered toward the August evening. The day still had a lot of light left. “Who will do the ceremony?”

She loved the glint in his eyes. “Leave it to me. What do you say?”

“Yes. Yes!” Her lips covered his, light and trembling at first, then with growing confidence and passion as he drew her into himself and poured his love into her.



It was the breeze that made her look up, a change in the texture of the unseen, a change in the texture of her heart.

She was ready. Charlotte moved with firm footing around a stand of beech trees and onto a moonbeam path. A pearly, full moon glowed over Red Mountain, burning back the curtains of night.

A midnight wedding.

Charlotte gripped her bouquet as a quintet began to play the “Hallelujah Chorus.” Another round of joy swelled in her middle. Excitement tingled down her arms and legs. Her heart trembled with love. Her mind rested in peace.

“All right, Charlotte, are you ready?” Cleo popped out of the shadows, the pearls around her neck rivaling the moon’s essence.

“Yes . . . I’m ready.” Her escorts came from behind Cleo. Her sisters-of-the-dress, Hillary and Mary Grace.

The song on the strings intensified. The breeze ushered past and for a slight moment carried the fragrance of jasmine and cedarwood. Mama’s scent. Charlotte closed her eyes and inhaled.

“I must say, Daniel, Emily and Colby would be proud.” Cleo’s typical bold voice wavered with emotion. “As am I.”

“My mama would be proud too.” Charlotte inhaled one last time, holding on to the fading scent.

“She sure would.” On her left, Hillary slipped her arm through Charlotte’s. “I know I am.” She kept her gaze forward, her back straight. Charlotte pressed her cheek to Hillary’s shoulder, seeing the slight tremble on the woman’s lower lip.

“This might be the second-best day of my life,” Mary Grace said. She stood on Charlotte’s right and linked her arm tightly around the bride’s.

“Mine too.” Hillary straightened Charlotte’s veil—Emily’s veil—and kissed her cheek, waving Cleo aside. “Let’s get this girl married.”

The music mounted. In the array of white string lights and candles, Charlotte saw Tim and David rise from the chairs and stand in front of the kneeling altar along with a proud, smiling Thomas.

Tim peered down the aisle at her. In the muted light, Charlotte could see the sheen in his eyes. On the waves of flickering flames, she felt his radiating heart.

He’d done this. All of it. Called Cleo. Rallied his family and friends. Within hours, a wedding and reception had been planned and executed.

When Tim called Hillary, she jumped into action, drove up to Kirkwood, and stirred Mary Grace and Thomas to attend. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” they’d said.